


Step On Me

by vipjuly



Series: Game Masters [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Barebacking, Bottom Castiel, Crossdressing, Dom Castiel, Established Relationship, M/M, Sub Dean, Timestamp, Top Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-06-27 10:00:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15683127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vipjuly/pseuds/vipjuly
Summary: Castiel chooses a new outfit, to which Dean eloquently blurts out "Step on me".So, Castiel does.Step on him, that is.





	Step On Me

**Author's Note:**

> timestamp for [TEA](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13699254/chapters/31466187), set about a month after the wedding. could read this as a standalone.

Kneeling on the small cushion on the floor is a familiar place for Dean. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of tight, tiny blue women’s bikini cut underwear, the length of his hard cock pressed up against his belly and on lewd display. His body is already flushed from time elapsed stuck watching, not touching, his mouth dry and his eyes wet. His nipples have small clamps on them, simple and sleek and black, his wrists cuffed behind him at the small of his back. In front of him is the most delicious sight he’s ever seen, and he’s been slowly going mad watching it all unfold.

From the floor up is how Dean’s gaze travels over Castiel. 

On Castiel’s feet are fire engine red stilettos, pointed toes giving the shape of his feet an unnaturally feminine elegance. His skin is smooth and free of hair as Dean’s gaze travels up his muscled calves, over his strong knees, trails over his thick, _thick_ thighs. Castiel’s wearing a women’s bodysuit, his junk tucked away expertly, adding to the feminine illusion. The fabric is black with no pattern or texture with a plunging neckline and shoulder straps that cross elegantly in the back, dropping down into a thong that Dean knows exists but has yet to see. Draped over his broad frame is a white faux fur coat, the shoulders of it drooped to the crooks of his elbows to expose his collarbones and the round of his shoulders, the sleeves rolled up to expose his thick forearms. On each wrist are thin black leather cuffs, his fingers tipped with sturdy press-on nails painted the same shade as his high heels, and if Dean weren’t in love with this man before, he has fallen deep into the fiery pits of Hell for him by now. 

Dean watches as Castiel approaches. He’s got a whip in one hand and a smirk on his features - oh, his lips are painted the prettiest cherry red - and when he’s close enough for Dean to smell his perfume he stops, flicking a wrist to get the whip to tap gently against the cut of Dean’s jaw. 

“You look very good,” Castiel praises, the whip dragging against Dean’s stubble. 

Dean’s lashes flutters. “Thank you, Sir.”

The whip snaps away, Castiel’s wrist flicking it in a way that makes the leather crack against itself. Dean shudders. Castiel then moves the tip of the whip to the other side of Dean’s face, caressing his jaw just as reverently as before, his lids lowering slightly, eyes dark behind his lashes. “So good for me.” 

Dean swallows thickly, not trusting his voice to reply. Castiel pulls the whip away and then lifts his right foot, pressing the ball of his heel against the center of Dean’s chest. His skin pulls slightly taught and his nipples twitch in their clamps, a little aroused huff leaving Dean’s lips as Castiel applies pressure on his sternum with his foot.

“And yet… do you think I didn’t see you sneak that key into your cuff?” Castiel asks, his voice filled with dark promises.

Dean can’t help the little smirk that twitches the corner of his lips. “No, Sir.” His fingers twitch, wrists rotating slightly, the leather cuffs cutting nicely into his skin. 

“You’ve gotten awfully clever,” Castiel says. It comes out as a praise, but Dean knows it’s going to be a punishment. 

Dean can’t help but let his gaze travel over Castiel’s shin and calf right in front of him, and he wants to touch _so_ bad. He stays quiet. 

Castiel presses a bit harder against Dean’s sternum, forcing him to strengthen his posture so he doesn’t get toppled over. “Uncuff yourself.”

Dexterous fingers pull the hidden handcuff key out of the leather strapped over Dean’s wrists and it takes him less than a minute to get himself free of the metal restraints. They along with the key clatter to the wood floor and Dean lifts his gaze to look up at Castiel, whose expression is carefully blank, even though his eyes are calculating. 

“Touch.” Castiel commands.

Dean lifts his hands, the fingers of his left hand wrapping around Castiel’s ankle, his other hand cupping Castiel’s calf lovingly. His eyes close as he helps Castiel’s foot adjust so that the ball of the shoe as well as the point of the heel are pressing into his skin, and he dips his head so he can press a kiss to the pointed tip. He hears Castiel’s breath hitch and smirks to himself, arching his chest a little to apply a bit more pressure to the bottom of Castiel’s foot, causing the other man to brace himself a little better so Dean doesn’t push him over. Dean’s kisses travel up the top of Castiel’s foot to his ankle, his teeth nipping slightly, and then Castiel gives a little kick, causing Dean to falter backwards slightly, thighs flexing to keep himself upright. With his hands free he can brace himself, knees spreading slightly to even his base, and when Dean looks up Castiel’s expression is fierce. 

“Watch yourself.”

After all, Dean was instructed to touch, not to kiss, but he can’t help it. Castiel is so… delectable in this outfit, Dean almost wishes the scene would have gone the other way - with Dean standing over Castiel, tearing him apart with hands mouth and teeth. But Castiel towering over him, heels adding to his height and frame, power radiating off of him in intoxicating waves, Dean thinks that he’s pretty alright with how this turned out. 

“Yes, Sir.” Dean says, although he’s far from demure. 

Castiel’s foot suddenly presses _hard_ and sends Dean tumbling over. He lands on his back, a surprised breath whuffing from his lips, and his eyes widen and heartbeat quickens when Castiel steps over him, heels clacking on the hardwood floor, planted on either side of Dean’s torso. Hands on his hips, the shape of which are accentuated by the cut of the bodysuit and the way the coat is draped elegantly over him, Castiel bends slightly at the waist and Dean’s mouth goes dry again, his cock throbbing in excitement, Castiel oozing dominance and cockiness. Dean shuts his mouth, suddenly unable to make any sort of coherent thought, the palms of his hands pressed into the floor and his legs extended straight out, afraid to move, afraid to _breathe_ with the way Castiel is looking at him. 

“You’re testing my patience today.” Castiel warns. 

The corner of Dean’s mouth twitches without his permission.

Castiel’s arm moves faster than Dean’s brain can register and the whip cracks against his left nipple clamp. Dean lets out a surprised yelp, pleasure zinging through his body, precum oozing from the tip of his dick and pooling into his belly button as his spine arches, seeking out more of that lightning. The whip moves to crack against the other clamp and a tear escapes Dean’s eye, body flushing hot. He takes a second to gather his breath and when he opens his eyes he sees Castiel smirking over him, swaying slightly on his feet, hips swiveling to a silent song, running the tip of the whip across his other open palm. With Dean’s eyes on him Castiel lifts the whip to his mouth so he can lick the leather of it, causing Dean to let out a muted whimper. 

Hip cocked out to the side, Castiel lowers the whip. It’s slick with his saliva and he trails it over Dean’s cheekbone, goosebumps erupting over Dean’s body in reply. 

“Are you ready to behave?” Castiel asks, his voice still with an edge, smoky with arousal. 

Dean nods, still not trusting his voice. His cock is so hard it _hurts_ and Castiel looks so damn _good_. 

Castiel lifts his right leg so he can press his heeled foot against Dean’s chest again. Dean trembles. Castiel leans over him, trailing his tongue over his top row of teeth, the way his body is angled and bending making all of the muscles in his legs contract beautifully on display. Dean’s breathing quickens as it gets more difficult to draw in air with the pressure on his chest but he doesn’t tell Castiel to stop, thinking that if he dies, he’d be glad for it to be under Castiel’s foot. 

The pressure is removed from his chest and then Castiel is bending at the knees, squatting over Dean’s dripping cock. Now his calves are bulging, his thighs huge and flexing, and Castiel reaches behind himself to where Dean can’t see. Dean doesn’t touch, doesn’t dare to, and his head drops back against the floor with a thud when he feels Castiel gripping his cock to rub the slick head of it against his ass cheeks. There’s a little clatter, which Dean registers as the plug Castiel had been wearing coming out and dropping to the floor, and then wet heat is engulfing his dick so quickly and suddenly Dean lets out a strangled shout.

Balancing on his high heels, the elevation of them allowing Castiel to move in a way he’s never been able to before, Castiel starts bouncing on Dean’s cock. Dean balls his hands into fists until Castiel grabs his wrists and guides them so Dean’s fingers can wrap around Castiel’s ankles, feeling the power and strength of Castiel’s frame as he moves over Dean. Opening his eyes Dean looks down at where their bodies are joined - Castiel had moved the tight fabric of his bodysuit aside to expose his hole but left his cock and balls trapped and tucked tight, the hard outline straining against the black material of his suit. The sight has Dean’s cock twitching and Dean has to drop his head back again in an attempt to stave off an early release. He and Castiel have practiced a lot with stamina but Castiel has been torturing Dean all morning and Dean’s pretty sure he’s gonna blow a lot sooner than either of them want. 

But he also knows Castiel is torturing him on purpose, _trying_ to force an orgasm out of Dean, all while telling him he’ll be punished if he cums without permission. It’s a beautiful game of tug of war and Dean hasn’t lost yet, because Castiel’s praise is otherworldly, but today he thinks he might finally lose all the bets. Castiel’s ass is hot and tight around him, sloppy with all of the lube he’d had Dean slather over and inside of it before plugging him up, and Dean feels the lube soaking his panties and dripping down the crease of his thighs and it should be disgusting but he _loves_ it when things get messy. 

Castiel’s pace is almost frenzied, which reassures Dean that Castiel is just as affected as he is. Castiel plants his hands on Dean’s chest and starts gyrating his hips, making Dean’s cock grind instead of thrust, pressing against all of Castiel’s walls. Dean’s knuckles are white with his finger’s grip on Castiel’s ankles and Castiel doesn’t seem to mind, intent on taking his pleasure, using Dean’s dick for his own release while Dean is forced to lie still and allow it. 

Castiel straightens and his long fingernails hook in his bodysuit so he can finally free his straining erection. His fingers fly over the length, Dean’s eyes glued to the way Castiel’s hands look strangely effeminate working over his cock, thinking deliriously that he would let those manicured fingers do anything to him. Castiel’s breath hitches and then he cums, spilling his load over Dean’s stomach, rope after rope painting Dean’s freckled skin. It’s a huge load and Dean’s wrists twist, a warning to Castiel, who only doubles his efforts of fucking himself on Dean’s cock. Dean’s orgasm washes through him and he cums so hard it squelches out of Castiel’s ass and drips back down the length of his dick - Castiel pulls off before he’s finished, Dean’s cock slapping against his stomach, the rest of his release oozing out to mix with Castiel’s puddle.

Unsure as to how Castiel can even stand after that, Dean stays boneless on the ground. Cum starts dribbling down his waist, the air cooling it and making him sticky in way more places than he can imagine. He’s painted, he knows, marked up with both his hand Castiel’s jizz, and he’s trying really hard to catch his breath when he hears the shutter of Castiel’s polaroid camera go off. Dean’s eyes are closed so when Castiel reaches down to take off the nipple clamps he lets out a little, surprised whimper, the muscles of his body tensing slightly. He cracks an eye open to see Castiel standing over him, again, tucked back into his body suit, coat sitting properly on his shoulders, high heels shiny red and clean. Dean’s cum is sliding down the inside of his thighs.

Licking his lips, Dean swallows what little spit is in his mouth, letting out a rattly chuckle. “That was awesome.” 

Castiel smooths his hands down the front of his body suit, then smooths them again down the faux fur of his coat, his long red nails a stark contrast against the white. Dean’s eyes track the movement. “We still have all day.” 

“If you put on anything else today I’m filing for divorce,” Dean says to the ceiling, having to tear his gaze away from Castiel. His spent cock is trying valiantly to join the conversation again but Dean’s too exhausted for that.

“I was thinking of swapping the coat for an apron,” Castiel suggests, almost demurely.

“Fuck yeah.” Dean grins. 

Who knew blurting out ‘Step on me’ when Castiel showed off his latest shoe purchase would pay off so well?

**Author's Note:**

> my [twitter](https://twitter.com/deansdaisydukes)


End file.
